That Old Black Magic
by HuntersAndAssassins
Summary: Odie Bennett was a psychic and hunter, who gave up hunting after being psychic caused her to mess up in a big way. She never considered going back to the life, until a vision forced its way through. She made a decision to change destiny and did the impossible. Enter: John Winchester.
1. Chapter 1

**I have loved Supernatural for years, and I have always wanted to write a story for it. I prefer writing OC stories, but I could never think of any Dean or Sam stories with an OC. I have had this idea for a while, so I'm finally writing it and decided to post it.**

 **This chapter jumps forward, so I've added dates to hopefully make things clearer. It starts at the very beginning of season four but doesn't detail anything that happens. This story will also be AU starting in the next chapter.**

* * *

 **Dry Ridge, Kentucky  
** **July 30, 2008**

 **Odie**

The knocking was shifting from distant nuisance, which was it had been ten minutes ago, and into full-blown annoyance. Every time the sound started up again, she made a sound in her throat that might have been a whimper if it had been lacking gravel. Her throat was raw from the hangover she'd suffered that morning, burned and inflamed.

 _Knock-knock-knock_

Her knees hit the hardwood floor of her living room, and the joints in her shoulders popped as she practically laid on the floor to look under her couch. She'd been drinking since she managed to pull herself away from the toilet, and she was half a bottle away from sweet oblivion. It'd been two days since the last time she slept, and she really needed that black nothingness she only got at the bottom of a bottle.

 _Knock-knock-knock_

All of her other stashes were cleaned out, she couldn't remember the last time she went to a store, but she was sure that she'd dropped a bottle in the living room somewhere. The only thing under the couch was dust and a lone sock, and she pressed her forehead against the floor. She had definitely dropped a bottle and heard it roll a few days ago, but she couldn't remember where. She might be able to remember, but she couldn't concentrate because of that fucking sound.

 _Knock-knock-knock-KNOCK_

"Can't they fucking read?" she whispered as she straightened up on her knees. There was a sign on her front door that clearly stated _no_ _visitors_ _allowed_ , so there shouldn't be any knocking.

Her palms pressed flat against the middle couch cushion, and her head swam as she pushed herself to her feet. She glanced down, saw black sweatpants and a white tee shirt, and slowly turned around. Bare feet moved in quiet shuffles through the living room and out into the hallway, and she pressed her hand against the wall to keep herself steady. It felt like she was walking on a boat, the wood under her feet rocking up and rolling down, and the knocking was getting louder. She was nearly to the front door now, and she could hear clear yelling through the thick wooden floor.

"-can hear me! Dammit, Odie Bennett, open this door!"

Fingers fumbled against the locks on the door, slipped a few times, and then finally unlocked. The door swung open, and she leaned her right shoulder against the doorway. The move served two purposes. One, it blocked the way into her home. Two, and just as important, it kept her from falling over. Her left hand raised so she could push unkempt hair out of her face, and bloodshot eyes stared forward at the older man standing on her small porch.

"Get out of here, Bobby."

 **Bobby**

For a moment, the only thing that Bobby Singer could do was stare. The last time he saw Odie Bennett was nearly five years ago, but she looked like she'd aged over ten years since then. The long brown hair she used to keep in a sleek braid was darkened with grease and tangled in a halo around her head. The clothes she was wearing were baggy and stained, her once tanned skin was pale and waxy, and her eyes...belonged to a stranger.

If eyes were the windows to the soul, her soul had broken and was now pickled in cheap liquor. Odie had eyes that captivated. A deep dark brown color. Bottomless eyes, he'd called them. She'd seen things that no person should be able to see. Her eyes had held tragedy and pain, strength and compassion. Now the dark color was flat black, no spark of life, and surrounded by broken blood vessels.

"You finally losing it, old timer? I told you to get out of here." Her voice was hoarse, scrubbed raw from whatever she was choking back these days, and slightly slurred.

"What happened to you, Odie?" he asked her. He'd heard the gossip about her leaving the life, but no one had said anything about her attempting to drink herself into an early grave. "Is this about that kid in Oklahoma? You know that wasn't your fault."

"Tell that to the kid's mother." She sucked in air through her teeth and slowly shook her head. "Shit, wait, cancel that. She killed herself the day after her son's funeral."

"Odie-"

"Great catching up with you, Bobby. Really, good to see you, but it's time for me to-"

He blocked the door with his foot before she could finish slamming it, and those stranger eyes looked up at him in banked anger. As if she didn't have the energy to become fully angry. She opened the door again but kept a white knuckled grip on it, and her shoulders slumped as she sighed. Resigned to his presence for the moment.

"I need your help." The words didn't come out easily, but he'd driven all the way out here and wasn't leaving until he'd said his piece.

"I'd already figured that out. Be a little more specific." Hoarse, slurred, empty.

"A friend of mine died-"

"Shocker."

"-and I need help bringing him back."

For a moment, in the space between one breath and the next, he could really see her. Fire lit up her eyes and put a little color in her cheeks. He half expected her to punch him, but the look faded as quickly as it came. That flat color was looking up at him again, and he was looking at the woman who used to be Odie Bennett. Whoever she was now, she wasn't the hunter he knew.

"Didn't you hear?" Her temple pressed against the door, and he realized that she'd fall over if the door wasn't there. "I don't do that anymore."

"You can't turn off being psychic." Odie Bennett wasn't a normal hunter, even though she was a damned good one. All of the Bennett women were psychic, each generation stronger than the last. Odie was a powerful psychic, and he'd only seen some of what she was capable of. If there was anyone that could help him, it was her.

"You can if you drink enough. Hunting, psychic visions, doing the impossible! That's not me anymore. That person you're looking for, she's gone and this world is better off without her." She smiled as she talked, but it was an empty look. Like everything that made her who she was had been washed away, erased.

"Dean Winchester. Have you heard his name? He's in Hell, Odie, and he don't belong there," he said quickly. There was no recognition in her expression, but he had to try.

"I haven't heard anything in years, and Hell is filled with souls that don't belong."

This time when she went to slam the door, he let her.

 **Lexington, Kentucky  
** **September 18, 2008**

 **Odie**

Odie dropped off her latest bounty, the job that she only did to keep her bills paid, and then swung her old truck into a parking lot behind a small bar. She counted out the money she needed for her rent and popped the glove box open, and slightly shaking fingers grabbed the old sock sitting on top of the vehicle registration. She stuffed her rent money into the sock, folded it, and tossed it into the glove box. The leftover paycheck went into her back pocket, truck keys in her front pocket, and she pulled on a frayed baseball hat before heading towards the bar.

She'd been in the bar before, and she liked it because people kept to themselves. The crowd was a little rough around the edges, but she could take care of herself if someone started a bar brawl. The crowd was mostly interested in drinking and pool, so she didn't think she had to worry about fighting her way out. Like every other time she'd stopped in, she sat on a stool at the end of the bar and paid for a bottle upfront instead of signaling for shots. The bartender recognized her, so the whole transaction went down without her ever having to say a word.

Several hours later, she was pleasantly drunk. Only one guy had tried talking to her, but he'd ambled off when she hadn't paid him any attention. She'd spent the night on her stool, drinking slowly but steadily, and her bloodstream was now saturated with the finest cheap whiskey she could barely afford. Her steps were only a little off balance as she walked across the dark parking lot to her truck, and her head tipped back to look at the sky.

She wasn't blackout drunk, she was still vertical after all, but she felt warm. These days, she normally felt cold. She could hardly ever get warm, but the night air was humid and she'd chugged enough to heat her blood for the moment. She thought she might even be able to get some sleep, and that was all that really mattered. Sleep, blackness, empty. Fingers dug into the front pocket of her jeans to get her truck keys, and she sighed happily as she got the truck unlocked and then shoved the keys back into her pocket.

It took some maneuvering, but she managed to crawl into the backseat of her truck and lock herself inside. It was times like this that she was glad she was short, because she could curl up in the backseat and feel perfectly comfortable. Now that she was thinking about it, she was short enough to spread out a little. She stretched out on her back, fingers laced over her stomach, and stared up into nothing as her senses went hazy.

She was on the edge of sleep, felt like she was swirling down a drain, when her skull cracked open. That's what it felt like anyway. Her hands flew to the sides of her head, looking for damage that wasn't there, and she cried out as she became painfully sober. It felt like getting shocked with pure electricity. The alcohol was burned out of her system, and she clutched at fistfuls of hair as she bucked against the seat. Years of quiet, of blissful ignorance, were falling away. She cried out again, this time in white-hot anger, and then the pressure in her head reached its pinnacle.

 _Dean Winchester is saved!_

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
** **September 22, 2008**

 **Bobby**

The phone had stopped ringing but started up again immediately, and Bobby managed to grab it this time before it could cut off. He cleared his throat before barking out a hello, and he could hear rough breathing. Rough and shaky. Not from crying. More like...fear. He listened for a moment longer and felt his patience stretch thin when whoever was on the other end continued to keep silent, except for that breathing.

"If you don't start talking soon, I'm gonna-"

"Bobby?" It was just one word, in a strained tone, but he still recognized it.

"Odie? That you?" A strong, shaky exhale followed by a wet cough was the answer. "Did something happen?"

"Dean Winchester is back, isn't he?" Bobby fell down into his chair and scrubbed his free hand across his face.

"You saw something, didn't you?" She said she hadn't seen anything in years, but he'd been around enough psychics to know that tone. She was asking a question that she already knew the answer to.

"It's bad, Bobby. End of the world bad." Even her laugh sounded unstable. "I thought about killing them, the Winchester boys. I'm rusty but still capable, but killing them won't make a difference. Not at this stage. Those feathery fucks have already made up their minds."

"You've seen the angels?" He still had problems believing they were real, but she sounded like they were familiar.

"I need you to do something, Bobby." The phone rattled, and he assumed that she was holding it away as she wretched. The little bit of distance didn't muffle the sounds of her getting sick, or the gurgling of a toilet flushing a minute later. "Do you trust me?"

"What the hell kinda question is that?" He'd known Odie since he started hunting. He knew her dad, a damned good hunter and a good father, and he had trusted both of them on hunts. That wasn't the same as trusting someone as a person.

"Right. Smart hunters trust no one. Maybe I'm even more rusty than I thought," she laughed. It was followed by harsh coughing, but she didn't get sick again.

"What's this about, Odie?" He was tired, drained. Dean was back, but now there were angels and a good friend of his was now blind.

"I can't stop it. You can't stop it. We're just along for the ride, but I think there's a way. I can't do it now, I'm too weak. It'd probably kill me. There's just enough time for me to get right, and I will. I've already started. I'll get stronger and then I'll get someone who can stop it, but I'll need your help. It won't work without us, and I just need a couple of ingredients. Well, one ingredient from two sources. I need some blood from Dean and Sam. Not a lot, a few drops maybe. Get that for me and keep it safe, and I'll see you when I'm ready."

She went quiet after that, and he could hear her breathing harshly. The words had been said quickly, and he worried for a moment that she was losing her mind. Then he could hear quiet laughter, that sounded more like sobbing. If she wasn't crazy now, she was probably headed that way.

"I thought about checking out, but I've seen too much to not be afraid of hell. I've been going over it, and this is the only way. If I do nothing, the Apocalypse will just be the first domino. Gotta get it right. I'll be seeing you, Bobby. Just don't forget the blood, yeah?"

The phone clicked, signaling that she'd hung up, and he dropped the phone onto his desk. He'd do what she asked, just to be safe, but he wasn't going to hold his breath. Odie Bennett was a good hunter and a strong psychic, but that was years ago. He wasn't going to pin his last hope on the person she was now.

 **Dry Ridge, Kentucky  
** **October 3, 2008**

 **Odie**

Two weeks without a single drop of alcohol was absolute torture. After just two days, snippets started seeping through. She hugged the toilet as visions played out in her pounding head, and there was nothing she could do to stop the images and whispers. As the days drug on, she sobered up more and everything became a little more clear. By the time she reached the two week mark, she was existing on coffee and rage. Oh, and sugar.

There was a time, felt like a lifetime ago, when she loved being psychic. She'd been able to _know_ things even as a small child, and she usually knew what her parents were going to get her for her birthday before they even did. Of course, even back then, there'd been a downside. She'd been six when she had a dream about her mother dying, and she'd only been seven for a couple of weeks when that dream became reality. After that, the things she saw and heard helped her save people. Helped her save her father, until he'd died from a heart attack. She'd been twenty then, not some little kid, so she'd carried on. Welcomed everything her psychic abilities gave her.

Until Oklahoma. Until Kyle Morton. Until she'd messed up.

The job had been a simple one. Hunting a ghoul that had decided to eat something a little fresher? That was a hunt she could do in her sleep. She'd almost had the thing too. Tracked it to a graveyard way off the beaten path and had been ready to wrap things up when a vision came. The waking visions were usually just flashes, quick little videos played out against her closed lids. That time, the vision had been so strong that she'd fallen to her knees. It'd gone on for so long that the sun had set when she finally came to, and she'd been laying facedown on the ground. She'd gotten up and pushed the vision to the back of her mind, but it had already been too late. Kyle Morton had been gone, and killing the ghoul had just left her feeling cold.

She'd been twenty-three when Kyle died, in her prime, and she had decided to put hunting behind her. She found her small cabin in Dry Ridge, tracked down criminals for a paycheck, and started drinking to block all of her psychic senses. If she was sloshed, she couldn't see or hear anything. There were times when she could even forget that monsters were real. Times when she could believe that she wasn't real. Now she was twenty-seven, washed up and bitter, and letting the visions come back.

The worst part about the vision in the graveyard? She couldn't even remember it. It had been strong enough to put her down and long enough to make her lose nearly ten hours, but she couldn't remember a single image or word. The only thing she could remember was an emotion, a lingering feeling that had clung to her. Somehow, that was the worst part. That leftover sense of loss.

The only thing that she knew for sure, that she knew without a single doubt, was that she had been in love. So in love that it had felt like a physical part of her being, something vital. She had been in love and had woken up alone. She came to with her fingers dug down deep into graveyard dirt and dead grass clinging to her cheeks, and she had felt so achingly _alone_.

The thought of going on another hunt, of having another vision that allowed an innocent to die, wasn't something she could handle. That was the top reason she had stopped hunting. The other reason was a lot more selfish. She didn't have the drive to hunt anymore. She'd always been passionate about hunting, about saving people, but not since she'd woken up in that graveyard. She didn't believe that she needed someone else to feel complete, to feel like a whole person, but whatever had been in that vision had been bad. Bad enough that she couldn't even remember it.

So she ran from it all. From the visions and monsters and possible future where she loved so deeply that it hurt.

Until now. She was letting it all back in, willfully, and planned to do a lot more. She hadn't been lying when she told Bobby that she was weak. She was weak. Physically, mentally, spiritually. If she attempted to do anything more strenuous than tying her boots, she'd probably fall over dead. She had to get stronger, and she had to do it fast. There wasn't a lot of time left before it'd be too late.

The coffee cup in her hands was cold now, but she drank down the dregs anyway. The rocking chair creaked as she tipped her head back to get the last drop, and she blew out a sigh as she lowered the cup. The sun was starting to rise over the trees that bordered her little cabin, and the air was starting to heat up. It was going to be a warm day, so she could exercise outside. Her muscles had grown lax over the years, and she needed to be in top shape.

 _"Here's hoping I don't screw this up or die too early,"_ she thought and rocked up onto her feet.

 **Small City Hospital  
** **Sometime In Early February 2009**

 **Dean**

The door of his hospital room opened, followed by the sound of quiet footsteps, but Dean kept looking at the window. Sam and Cas were both gone, it was just him in the room, and he didn't feel like talking up a nurse. He could hear low humming, some pop song that he'd heard on the radio, and a pen scratching against paper.

"You need anything?" The voice wasn't high and nasally, so it wasn't the same nurse who'd been in earlier. This voice was lower, throaty, almost hoarse.

"I'm good," he said as he turned his head. The first thing he noticed was her dark eyes, staring straight down at him. He couldn't tell what color her eyes were, brown or green maybe, but they were so dark that they appeared black.

"Tough guy, huh? You too tough to let me fix your pillow?" Her tone was easy going, like it didn't matter if he said yes or no, but her eyes...her eyes were deep and dark.

Dean shook his head, and she smiled down at him. The smile puffed her cheeks out and made her look younger, she looked around Sam's age, and he instinctually smiled back. She slid the clipboard she'd been carrying onto the small table next to his bed and then bent down over him. Pieces of dark hair that had slipped out of her ponytail brushed his face as she gripped the pillow with both hands, and he could smell cinnamon when he breathed in. It only took one good tug to pull the pillow out from under his shoulders, and he could clearly see the flex of muscle in her arms as she pulled.

"That should feel better," she said and straightened up. The pillow was just behind his neck and head now, and he had to admit that he was more comfortable now.

"Thanks." She'd already picked her clipboard up, and she held it in one hand as she looked at him. She looked at him like she could see through him. Like she could see Hell in his eyes and all the things he'd done.

"Stay strong, okay? Whenever it seems like the world is ending, just stay strong. Things usually have a way of working out."

The nurse smiled at him one last time before turning on her heel, and he kept looking at the door even after she was gone.

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
** **May 11, 2009**

 **Bobby**

Whoever was knocking on his door was going to get a face full of rock salt. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked around his desk, and he'd only taken a few steps when the knocking became louder. He grabbed his shotgun before leaving the study, and his eyes narrowed at his door as the knocking became steady. It only took one hard pull to get the door open, and he raised the shotgun immediately in greeting.

"Took you long enough! Don't you know we're on a tight schedule?" A small hand pushed the barrel of the shotgun away, and Bobby took a step back as Odie marched inside his house. "Timing is everything, Bobby. Blood this way?"

He turned around and followed after Odie, and she made a sharp turn into his study. When he walked inside, she was already behind his desk and digging through the drawers. He wanted to ask her what the hell was going on, but he paused as he got his first real look at her. Her hair was down, but it looked clean and brushed unlike the greasy tangles he'd seen last time. She looked healthier too, not as thin or as pale. She looked almost normal, except for the frantic jerks of her arms as she dug through his stuff.

"Do you know where Dean is?" He'd up and disappeared, and Bobby had no way of finding him.

"Dean's safe. Royally pissed off, but what else is new? He'll be okay," she said and slammed a drawer shut. Her palms pressed flat against his desk, and she looked straight at him for the first time.

 _Soulful_ _eyes_. That was the only way he could think to describe that look. Her every emotion was showing through the dark color, and her eyes weren't empty anymore. They were filled with sadness. No, her eyes were more than sad. She looked like she was grieving, but there was determination showing in the clench of her jaw. Odie Bennett was back, and she looked like she was headed to her death but wasn't going down without a fight.

"Right!" she yelled as a palm slapped against the top of the desk. He felt frozen as she hurried past him, and he turned in a half circle to watch her cross his kitchen and open the fridge.

"Have you seen Sam?" She stopped rummaging around for a second, took in a deep breath that caused her ribs to push out against her shirt, and then opened another drawer.

"He's alive. I suppose he's technically okay, but he's gonna need a helluva lot of detox time when this is over. Have faith, Bobby," she said before calling out an _ah-ha_!

"Have faith in what?" he asked as she turned around. She was holding a flask in each hand, and she raised them up to listen to the contents sloshing inside.

"That God can't control everything, and destiny can be changed." She seemed satisfied with the flasks that held some of Sam and Dean's blood, and she slipped them into the back pockets of her shorts. "You got anything of John Winchester's? It's not necessary, but I think it'll help."

"Of John's?" he heard himself ask. It sounded like he was talking underwater, and he could hear his pulse beating.

"Yeah, just any material thing that belonged to him. Oh, and an old blanket. Get it up and meet me out back." She was already walking, headed towards the door again, and he hadn't moved from his spot in the study. "Get a move on, Bobby! It's almost time!"

The door slammed shut, and the sound got him moving. He placed the shotgun on his desk and then moved upstairs to look around, and he only paused once to wonder why he was going along with Odie Bennett. She'd stopped hunting years ago, and they'd never been particularly close. He had gone on hunts with her and her father though, and he'd hunted with just Odie after her father passed. She was strong, smart, and hadn't let the life turn her bitter. He knew the things she saw were always dead-on as well. One of her visions, as she called them, had even saved his life once.

He didn't know what she was going on about, but it wasn't like he had a whole lot of options either. So he decided to trust her and started to look for anything that belonged to John Winchester. When he came up with nothing after a few minutes, he started towards the door. He remembered to grab a blanket before walking out, and he snagged one out of the study before leaving the house.

Odie was in a cleared out area behind his house, digging into the dirt with a pipe. When he got closer, he realized she was drawing symbols in a wide circle. He didn't recognize the symbols, and he could hear her muttering under her breath as she drew in the dirt. She finished not even a full minute later, and she tossed the pipe away from the circle before straightening up and looking over at him.

"No material thing?" She had dirt on her hands, and she quickly wiped them against her jeans.

"Nothing." She nodded like she'd expected as much and pulled both flasks out of her pockets. As he looked on, she moved the flasks around until she could screw the tops off.

"You know, this ritual is supposed to be performed naked. Something about being pure and natural? Which is kinda hypocritical, considering the whole purpose of this ritual is to go against the natural order. So I think I'll keep my clothes on. Thoughts?" While she talked, she sprinkled out blood from both flasks in four points around the circle of symbols.

"Clothed is good. What the hell are you doing, Odie?" he finally asked. She kept talking like he knew what she was up to, and maybe that was what she thought. Maybe she'd forgotten that other people didn't know the things she did.

"The impossible."

The grin she shot him looked half mad, and she dipped down to carefully place the flasks on the ground. She pulled a small knife out of her boot and cut a line across her arm, and she moved around to add drops of her own blood to the points where she'd sprinkled the boys' blood. As she worked, he took in what she was wearing. She wasn't dressed indecently, but she was wearing less layers than he'd ever seen her in. Denim shorts instead of jeans and a thin white tee shirt without any kind of over shirt. The boots were the same clunky workboots he remembered her wearing on hunts.

"Odie, I really think we need to talk about this." She was standing in the center of the circle again, with her knife back in her boot, and she picked the flasks back up.

"No time for that, but...huh." She paused with the flasks in her hands, and he realized the cut on her arm was still bleeding sluggishly. She turned just her head to look at him, and her eyes were clearer. "I don't think I should make this decision on my own, but there isn't enough time for me to explain. Talk about hindsight."

"We got a little time. You can explain things to me," he said and took a step closer to the circle. She glanced up at the sky, and her eyes had a bright shine of desperation and determination.

"He knows, so I have to hurry. I'll make it simple. I know a way to help the boys. It won't save the world, because they're capable of that. Capable of saving it several times over, but that's how I want to help them. They shouldn't have to keep fighting to save the world, and this will stop the first domino from ever falling. All I have to do is break the laws of nature and piss off God."

She stopped there and looked down. Raised the flasks up like she was weighing them and then smiled. He could see one side of her lips pulled up into a smile, and she slowly shook her head before lowering her hands again. She was still half-smiling when she looked back over at him, and Bobby felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff as her eyes held his.

"What I'm planning on doing is wrong and breaks all kind of natural order rules, but I'm willing to do it because I don't want to see the Winchester boys continue to suffer. I don't know the consequences of this. I just know what will happen if I don't. What do you think, old timer? Definite suffering or the unknown?"

"You can't ask me to decide that." Just like no one could ask her to make a decision like this, but someone had to decide something. "You gotta do what you think is right."

"What I think is right...pissing off God it is."

Odie pinched one flask between an arm and her ribs, and she upended the other one. Blood pooled in her palm and dripped onto the ground, and she dropped the flask when it was empty. She poured the blood from the second flask into her cupped palm before letting it drop too, and his stomach rolled as she spread the blood up to her elbows.

"If I don't make it, tell him he has to go to Maryland. Ilchester, Maryland. St. Mary's, to be specific," she said as she bent to get her knife again.

 _"If she doesn't make it?"_

"Tell who?" he asked instead.

"You'll see, and, Bobby?" Dark eyes looked over at him, and she almost looked like the young woman he'd gone hunting with years ago. "Once I start, don't enter the circle. The world needs you alive."

She raised the knife and cut a line on the left side of her chest, over her heart, and then dropped the knife. She swiped a hand over her chest, mixing the blood already on her hands with her own. He could hear her muttering something, too low for him to make out the actual words. There was a fierce look of determination on her face now, which made her look more in control than when she had been tearing through his house.

The wind was starting to pick up, and her legs shifted to widen her stance and keep her steady. She was talking faster now, chanting in a language that he didn't recognize, and her head tipped back. Her dark hair whipped back and forth in the strong wind, and he gripped the old blanket in one fist and raised his other hand up to hold his hat against his head. Her hands waved through the air, fluid motions in contrast with the sharp chanting, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when lightning struck just outside of the circle.

"You'll have to do better than that if you want to scare me off!" she yelled and raised her hands up. Lightning struck again, and she just laughed in response.

 _"It's a warning,"_ he thought as she bent her knees to keep from getting blown over. The wind was strong enough to nearly knock them over, but the symbols dug into the dirt were unchanged.

"It's too late to stop me now, and you know it! I'm bringing him back!"

Nothing good could come from that statement, but he had a feeling that she was right. It was too late to stop her, but he still didn't understand what she was trying to do. Whatever it was, it was something powerful. The air around them felt charged, laced with electricity. She was chanting again, voice rising and falling. The sound was drowned out by the howling wind, but he could see her lips moving.

Just when he was sure that the wind was going to transform into a tornado, she dropped to her knees. Her blood soaked hands pushed against the ground until her fingers sunk into the dirt, and her lips were still moving. Another strong gust nearly toppled him over, and he blinked grit out of his eyes. Then wished he hadn't. Long deep cuts had appeared on her arms, and a rip in her shirt showed another line being cut into her ribcage. As he watched, more and more slashes sliced her open. She didn't even react as blood started to pour from her; she kept her hands buried in the dirt and her face tipped towards the sky, while she continued to chant.

"This is my will!"

Bobby was thrown back as light exploded in the center of the circle, and he worried that she'd been struck by lightning as he laid on the ground. He'd dropped the blanket when he got blown over, and he didn't bother with picking it up as he struggled to his feet. The wind had stopped, and the sky was a clear blue again without any sign of lightning or storms. He stumbled forward a few steps and looked at the circle, and Odie was lying in the dirt and not moving.

He hurried to her side and dropped down beside her, and the blood on her shoulder was still slick when he gripped it and carefully rolled her onto her back. The front of her shirt was ripped all to pieces to show torn skin and more blood, and there was even a slash following the curve of her jaw. He'd expected the blood. He hadn't expected for all of her dark hair to be white, as if the color had been leeched out. Or for her to look so small and still.

"Odie? You still with me?" He didn't want to shake her, because he didn't know how hurt she was. Luckily, her eyes opened into slits.

"Did it work? Is he here?" She tried to turn her head, but it was like she didn't have the strength to do that much.

"Nobody's here," he told her.

"Shit," she whispered and passed out.

It wasn't easy, but he managed to get her into his arms and stand up. It was a good thing that she was short and kept herself lean. Otherwise, he might not have been able to lift her and carry her into the house. He got her into the bathroom and into his ancient tub, and it was unnerving how still and quiet she was. He'd think she was dead if he couldn't see her body shifting slightly as she breathed.

The next couple of hours weren't easy ones. He had to cut off her shirt and shorts, because they were soaked in blood and ripped to pieces. Her boots were in one piece and came off easily enough, and he'd turned on the shower to wash the blood off. Her body had jerked at the sudden spray of water before falling still again, and he'd moved as quickly as he could to clean her off and then towel her dry. Things had gotten tricky after that. Cuts were all over her body, and some of them were deep enough to need stitches. He closed up cuts on her legs, arms, torso, and even the one on her jaw. The cuts that didn't require stitches still had to be cleaned and bandaged, and Odie looked like a kid dressing up as a mummy by the time he was through.

Finding clothes for her wasn't easy. One of his old tee shirts hung down on her, and he searched through old clothes until he found a pair of cotton sleeping shorts that he didn't remember Karen ever wearing but had to have belonged to her. He dressed Odie quickly and then carried her into the study to lay her on the couch. He wanted to keep her in his line of sight, just in case she worsened or woke up.

Once she was on the couch and covered up with a quilt, he collapsed into his chair behind the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers. Sam had run off to do only God knows what, Dean was missing, and a possibly insane psychic had just performed some kind of ritual in his backyard. If those weren't good enough reasons to drink, he didn't know what was.

The bottle only had a thin sliver of liquid left inside of it when he heard footsteps, and his eyes popped open wide as he sat up straight in his chair. He must have dozed off at some point, because the room was pitch dark. The footsteps were getting closer, and he hoped it was Dean and not Odie stumbling around bleeding. His hand fumbled in the dark until he found his lamp and switched it on, and dull light flooded the room.

Bobby froze with his hand raised and touching the lamp, and he blinked rapidly and hoped it would clear his vision. It did, the blurriness faded, but the person standing in his study didn't change. It wasn't Odie, stumbling around and reopening her stitches. It wasn't Dean, royally pissed off but whole. It wasn't even Sam.

The person took a heavy step forward, and dirt fell to the floor in a small cloud. The old blanket he'd left outside was draped around wide shoulders, slightly hunched forwards, and he could hear harsh breathing. Another step forward, more falling dirt. Dark eyes were looking at him, and there were even clumps of dirt weighing down the eyelashes. He was staring at a ghost. Had to be. He glanced over at Odie, who was still unconscious on the couch, and then back at the figure standing in the center of the room.

"Bobby, what the hell am I doing back here?" John Winchester asked.

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 **Thank you for reading! I'd love to know thoughts on this chapter or if you think I should continue to post it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I seriously considered deleting this story as life and work got busy, but I never got around to it. I checked my account around Christmas and saw that people were still reading, so I wrote this second chapter a couple of days ago. I am hoping that this year will be less hectic, and I will try to dedicate more time to writing and reading. If anyone has a Supernatural story they would like me to read, please review or send me a message.**

* * *

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 **May 11, 2008**

 **John**

Pressure on his chest made it impossible for him to take a full breath, but his lips still parted as he tried to suck in air. Thick dirt flooded his mouth and clogged his throat, and his arms fought upwards. Fingers broke through dirt, and he clawed his way out of the ground. He'd been on his back, only a couple of feet down, and he doubled over and forced dirt out of his mouth and throat. When he could finally breathe again, he tipped his head back and pulled in a deep lungful of air.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was sitting in the nursery, putting the crib together.

No, not putting Dean's crib together. He'd been sitting on the couch, holding Sam while Mary rocked Dean.

Except Mary was gone. Not just gone. Killed, murdered by some _thing_.

He had been on a hunt, and he'd tried getting it over with as quickly as possible because he needed to get some stuff to Sam. His youngest son was going to be in a science fair, if he got Sam what he needed in time.

Sam wasn't his youngest son. He had another son, unplanned and unexpected. Adam. The young boy didn't know anything about the life, and his brothers didn't know he existed.

He had checked in on Dean, because he was old enough to hunt on his own. Old enough and more than capable, but he still worried. So he kept an eye on Dean but didn't let him know, and he'd been planning on stopping by Stanford. He and Sam weren't talking, but he still made sure that Sam was okay.

That wasn't right either. Sam had went to Stanford and had a normal life for a few years, until his girlfriend was killed. By the same thing that killed Mary. Sam and Dean were together now, hunting together, and he was getting close to finding the thing that had destroyed his family and a way to kill it.

 _Yellow-Eyed Demon._ He'd looked the son of a bitch in the eye and made a deal. His life for Dean's.

Hell was real. He'd known it was real, but actually being in Hell was different than just knowing it existed. It was no longer an abstract. It was visceral and cut deep, for years and years.

He got free. Escaped Hell, watched Yellow Eyes die, and then...peace. He'd been at peace.

Now he was sitting in the ground, at least two feet under the surface. The sky was dark, dotted with stars, and he was in a cleared out space between stacked cars. When he turned his head, he saw the back of a familiar house. He knew where he was. He just didn't know why he was here.

Why had someone pulled him out of Heaven and planted him in the ground behind Bobby Singer's house?

John forced himself out of the shallow grave, because that was exactly what it was, and stood on unsteady legs. Dirt was streaked all across his body, and he knocked clumps of it off his skin. He was naked, so whoever had brought him back didn't resurrect him with clothes. He looked around for something to cover up with and saw a blanket.

Joints popped as he bent to pick the blanket up, but he wasn't in any kind of pain. In truth, he felt stronger than when he'd died. He also felt stiff, like he'd been sleeping in a cramped position for too many hours. He straightened up slowly and snapped the blanket a few times, and he stretched as he pulled the blanket around his shoulders.

His steps were slow, measured, but he was able to walk steadily around the house. Once he got to the front, he moved up onto the porch and pushed the door open. The house was dark and quiet, but he knew that Bobby was home. He wasn't sure how he knew the man was home, or how he knew that Bobby was even still alive. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been dead. Bobby's house was the same though, because he walked through it in the dark without knocking into anything.

He was a few steps into the dark study when light suddenly flooded the room, and he winced against the dull light coming from an old lamp on Bobby's desk. Bobby was sitting behind the desk and looking at him like he wasn't real, which wasn't that surprising since John was supposed to be dead. He took another couple of steps forwards and swallowed, and dirt felt like sandpaper in his throat.

"Bobby, what the hell am I doing back here?"

 **Odie**

"I'm not dead." Her words didn't echo, but there was a weight to them. Almost like she could see them in the air. The gray air. Everything was so gray, so endless and bland.

"Of course you're not. You still got a ways to go." That voice...she hadn't heard it since she was twenty years old. Since the day she burned her father's body.

"I'm guessing this is my subconscious kicking my ass then?" Gray was bleeding out of the world around her, being replaced by vibrant green and sun dried white. She was standing on her Gran's front porch, looking out at tall trees. Felt like early summer. Heat and humidity tempered by light breezes.

"Nothing like that. Look at what you have accomplished. You don't think I can send a message from beyond the grave?" Hands cupped her cheeks, gentle and callused, and Gran looked the way she did when Odie was a little kid. Thick steaks of iron gray through dark brown, lines across suntanned skin, and clear dark eyes.

"Accomplished? Shit, Gran, what did I do?" For months, it felt like she was running on autopilot. She ate three square meals a day, showered, brushed her hair, exercised, meditated...The same routine, day in and day out, with barely any conscious thought.

She remembered everything she'd seen. The Apocalypse, monsters from Purgatory, the night sky lit up as angels fell from Heaven, a blanket of darkness. On and on and on, one catastrophe after another, and so many ruined lives. All of it happened after Dean Winchester was saved. He was released, and she hadn't been able to stop seeing. She remembered lying on her kitchen floor, crying as she was forced to watch death after death, and she'd made a decision. To do whatever she had to, anything, to make it all stop. To ensure that the first domino never fell. Stop Lucifer from being freed and it would all change.

A Winchester. Only a Winchester could stop it, since that was how it all started. Once she made that decision, it was like most of her consciousness faded away. She'd made up her mind, and her body followed through. Sobered up. Meditated until the visions came naturally again. Worked her body until lax muscles became strong again. She even met Dean Winchester, when he was in the hospital. She wanted to meet him, to see the man who broke the first seal of Lucifer's cage, with her own eyes. What she had seen was a broken man struggling to do the right thing and hating himself every step of the way. She'd seen him and then had stuck to her guns even more. By the time she arrived at Bobby's house, she was half crazed with the need to see her plan through to the end. Now? She felt empty again. Empty and cold.

"You changed things, sweet babe, just like I always knew you would. Job isn't over yet. Keep your chin up." A finger knocked under her chin, and something in her chest broke open.

"What if I made the wrong decision?" she asked her Gran. Gray was starting to overtake the green of the trees and the oh-so-blue sky.

"There is no wrong or right. It's your decision, your act of free will, but you ain't done. Get it finished, Odette."

Gran smiled, warm and knowing, and the gray darkened into black.

 **John**

He held still and was patient as Bobby put him through all the tests. Holy water, silver, the works. The only reason he didn't fight or complain was because he would have done the same thing, if the situation was reversed. So he stood in the middle of the room, with only a blanket covering him, and let Bobby do what had to be done. When he was finished and satisfied that John was actually John, he took a few steps back and leaned heavily against his desk.

"She really went and did it," Bobby sighed and looked to the side. John turned his head to see what Bobby was looking at and saw a woman.

She was lying on the couch, covered up with an old quilt, and he took a step towards the couch to get a better look. He couldn't tell much about her, but the shape under the blanket looked small. In the dim light, the curled up shape almost looked childlike. Her face was turned towards the open part of the room, and there was a dark mark against the curve of her jaw. It looked like stitches, crisscrossing skin and bone. The dark thread stood out even more next to her light colored hair. Shit, the mess actually looked white. The only exposed parts of her were her face and hair, and he was sure that he'd never seen her. John never forgot a face, and he didn't know this woman. That didn't stop the feeling of familiarity he felt as he looked down at her.

"Are you telling me this little girl brought me back?" Bobby's only answer was a nod, and the man looked shaken as he ran a hand over his too pale face. "What the hell is she?"

"A psychic." Bobby took a healthy pull from a half full bottle of whiskey, and John resisted the urge to ask for the bottle. Whiskey would probably just burn his ragged throat even more.

"Psychics don't have the kind of juice needed to pull a soul out of Heaven." Nothing could pull a soul out of Heaven. A demon, maybe, but he had a feeling that he'd been gone for a while. Too long for a resurrection.

"How she brought you back is not my top priority. Whole world is shit right now," Bobby grumbled. He didn't think Bobby looked much older than he'd been when John died, but he looked…tired. Tired and worn out.

"You want to fill me in?" Some girl he didn't know anything about had brought him back from the dead, and he'd woken up in a shallow grave behind Bobby Singer's house. He wanted to know where Sam and Dean were.

"You want a shower?" Bobby countered. Dirt was still streaked across his skin, caked and grating in places, so a hot shower didn't sound like a bad idea.

"I need some clothes."

"Shower's in the same place," Bobby said and waved. John looked down at the couch again, saw white hair caught on dark lashes, and left the room.

The shower was just as he remembered it, old but clean with good water pressure, but he didn't linger. He did get the water as hot as it could go and scrubbed at his skin until he thought the top layer was gone, but he couldn't wash off the feeling of dirt stuck to him. By the time he stumbled out of the old tub, there was a small pile of clothes sitting on the sink. Jeans that he thought probably belonged to Dean and one of Bobby's old flannels, but it was better than a blanket he'd found outside. He still felt naked without any socks or shoes on though as he walked back towards the study. Bobby was back behind his desk, and there was another chair on the other side of the desk. He lowered himself down into it, stretched his legs out in front of him, and looked across the desk at Bobby.

"Can you tell me what's going on now?" he finally asked.

"For starters, it's going on three years since you died," Bobby started.

To Bobby's credit, he kept the story short and the judgment to a minimum. Told John about everything that had happened to Sam, visions and a kidnapping. Ended with Sam dying and Dean making a deal. John couldn't even get mad because he'd done the exact same thing, but the thought of Dean going to Hell turned his stomach. Must not have turned it enough though, because he accepted the sandwiches that Bobby dished up and washed it all down with water as he listened to Bobby tell him what he'd missed while he was dead. Sam did everything he could to get Dean out of his deal, but there was no way out of a demon deal. Dean went to Hell, was down there for four months, but John knew that time was different down there. Four months was closer to forty years, and he hated knowing that one of his sons had spent so much time in Hell.

Then Bobby told him about Sam and what he'd done while Dean was gone. It took everything he had not to react, to resist the urge to yell or hit something. It was exactly what John had been afraid of, everything he'd hoped would never happen. Bobby finished up with the current state of things. Him and Dean attempting to detox Sam from demon blood, and Sam escaping. Dean had gone after him but lost him, and now Bobby didn't know where Sam was. He didn't know where Dean was either, because he'd up and disappeared. Probably taken by the _angels_.

"All this, and you let some psychic bring me back?" Everything was rattling around his mind, different things trying to push to the forefront, and he could feel a headache starting.

"It ain't like she told me she was bringing you back. She just said she could help the boys."

"And you trusted her?" Hunters didn't trust anyone, not really. Bobby's eyes narrowed into a look that John recognized, and he wondered for a moment if Bobby was going to point a shotgun at him.

"Not like I had a lot of options. I don't care what you think or believe, but Odie Bennett is the real deal. A true psychic," Bobby said and glanced over at the sleeping girl. Odie Bennett? What kind of a name was that?

"Then we'll get her to clear this up," he decided. He rocked up onto his feet and took a few steps to get him next to the couch, and his knees didn't even pop when he leaned down. Somehow, she looked even smaller up close. He reached out to grab her shoulder and shake her awake, but her eyes flew open before he could touch her.

"Dammit, Odie! Don't do that!" Bobby yelled as the girl bolted upright. She was sitting up straight on the couch now, quilt pooled over her lap, and he was just about to stand up when her head tilted and her eyes met his. He wanted to take her in, but he couldn't look away from her eyes. Not even after seeing a blur in his peripheral that had to be her hand reaching for his face.

"It worked. It felt like it worked, but I couldn't be sure since it should be impossible. It worked though." He was close enough to count her lashes, but he couldn't tell what color her eyes were. Just that they were dark. Dark and bottomless. Cool fingers brushed against his cheek, and her eyes widened a little. "You're here."

"Why am I here?" he asked her. For a moment, nothing about her changed. Wide dark eyes, fingertips pressed to his skin, all frozen. Then her fingers curled and skimmed down to his jaw before she stopped touching him completely, and she looked over his shoulder at where he imagined Bobby was still sitting.

"Time is it?" she asked. Now that she wasn't touching him or even looking at him, he had no problem standing up and taking a step back.

"'Bout six," Bobby told her.

"Next morning?" When Bobby nodded, she swore and started pulling the quilt off of herself.

He was right about her being small, short and lean. The shirt she was wearing was too big on her, it slipped off of one shoulder to reveal the line of her collarbone and covered the tops of her thighs. There were fresh cuts on her exposed arms and legs, and bandages were wrapped around her too. She'd been hurt recently, hurt bad, but it didn't seem like it was slowing her down. She got the blanket off and then stood up, and he caught her arms as her knees buckled. His fingers met as he gripped her forearms, right under her elbows, and he could feel the hard press of muscle as she sucked in air through her teeth.

"Just take it easy," he told her quietly. Her head raised so that she could see his face, and a dimple appeared in one cheek as she smiled crookedly at him.

"That's kinda funny, coming from a dead man." She was smiling, but her dark eyes were cold. Whatever humor she felt, it didn't show in her overly expressive eyes. "Sit me back down?"

He carefully lowered her back down onto the couch, and he made sure she was steady before he released her arms and took a quick step back. Bobby was standing next to him now, and the two of them looked down at her. She looked back and forth between them, clearly thinking something through, and they stayed quiet as they waited. John thought that he'd break first, that he'd be the one to break the silence, but Bobby's patience was clearly worn thin.

"You ready to explain now?" Her eyes stopped on Bobby, and John couldn't tell if he was relieved or if he wanted her to look at him again. Because when she looked at him, she felt familiar. Right now, she was a complete stranger.

"Sort of, but we're still on a tight schedule. I didn't think it would take that long for him to get here or that I would sleep for that long, and now I'm starting to think it was all for nothing," she said slowly.

"All for nothing?" Bobby asked. John wanted to ask the same thing, since he was the one brought back from the dead.

"It's six in the morning, and we need to be in Maryland by noon. I'm good, but I'm not good enough to turn an eighteen hour drive into a six hour one. So, unless you've cracked the secret to teleportation, we've got a problem." South Dakota to Maryland in six hours? It couldn't be done, unless she had plane tickets.

"Get on a plane." Bobby must have had the same train of thought. She hummed, and her dark eyes went vacant. Unfocused and glazed over, for a long moment, until she blinked.

"Won't work. He knows what I did, and He won't make it easy for me. Gotta figure out something else. You trust me, Bobby?" She was looking up at Bobby again, but John couldn't read her expression.

"Hell, Odie, you just resurrected John Winchester," Bobby sighed.

"Is that a point for or against trusting me?" she asked with a small grin.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out." John looked over at Bobby at that, and Bobby just shrugged at him. John couldn't even summon up some surprise.

"Fair enough. I think I've got an idea, and it might work. If we get lucky, and I'm feeling pretty lucky. I'm gonna need some chalk, and sugar." She rolled her shoulders and sighed as the joints popped, and she looked down as she turned her head to pop her neck. "And he's gonna need some socks and shoes. Can't do a half-assed rescue mission barefoot."

"The last time you came in here looking for stuff, you nearly bled out in my backyard and brought back the dead." She got cut up bringing him back?

"Nothing near as dramatic this time, I promise. Chalk and sugar? Socks and shoes?" Bobby sighed again, and the girl started to pop the joints of her knuckles one-by-one.

"This better all work out," Bobby said before leaving the room. The girl leaned her elbows on her thighs and let her head hang forward, and John didn't know what to say or do.

"You had better be worth all this. I look like a discount mummy, and I think I'm about half-dead. This'll probably get me an upgrade, but I plan on keeping up my end. So you'd better do your part." Her head raised just enough for her eyes to meet his, and John decided that he hated her eyes. Hated the way she looked through him and into him. Hated that looking at her felt familiar, made him feel settled. Looking into her eyes made him hate her. "Think you can pull that off, old man? Think you can do right by your boys this once?"

"What did you-"

"Socks and shoes," Bobby said and pushed an old pair of boots against John's stomach before turning to walk out of the room again. "Chalk is in the desk. Sugar in the kitchen."

"Thank you kindly!" she called after Bobby. Then she smiled up at him as she pressed her palms flat against the couch cushion on either side of her hips. "Don't get all angry with me, old man. I just call it like I see it, and we don't have time to squabble. You can bitch at me later, yeah?"

"You had no right to bring me back." His tone was calm as she pushed herself up, and he realized the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder. She looked small, breakable and fragile, until her eyes met his again.

"No, I didn't. No right at all. It's a good thing I didn't do it for you." When he didn't back down or look away, she actually smiled. "I did it for the rest of the world. For all of the innocent people who don't deserve to live through an Apocalypse. Hell, I think I did it for Sam and Dean too. So maybe it wasn't right, to bring you back after you'd found peace, but I don't think it was wrong either. We'll hash out the details later. After we're done, and if we're both still alive."

She managed to stay on her feet as she walked around him and then around Bobby's desk as well, and he turned to sit down on the couch so he could pull the socks and boots on. He could see her digging through a desk drawer as he tugged a boot on, and Bobby walked back into the room holding a small sugar bowl. She made a loud _a-ha_ sound of triumph before standing up straight with chalk clenched in one fist, and she met Bobby in the center of the room. John finished putting on the other boot as they peeled the old rug on the floor back, and Bobby stepped back to stand between the desk and the couch as she bent over to start drawing on the floor with the chalk.

"Is that…Enochian?" he asked a minute later. She was drawing steadily, and the symbols looked somewhat familiar. He was sure he'd seen them while researching, but he'd never needed to use them.

"Looks like," Bobby muttered. When the symbols formed a circle, with an open middle, she walked over to Bobby. She switched out the chalk for the sugar bowl, and both men remained silent as she carefully sat down in the circle of Enochian symbols. She rolled her shoulders before pulling them back straight, and her dark eyes looked over at them.

"I don't know how long this will take. Minutes, hours, depends on how much of an asshole he feels like being. Whatever you do, don't disturb the circle. No matter what. You got me?" She'd been looking at both of them, but now her eyes were focused solely on Bobby.

"Do whatever you gotta do, Odie. We won't mess with you," Bobby promised for both of them. Her smile was soft and changed her whole demeanor. Made her look like something other than human paired with her white hair.

"I always knew you were a good man. Ever since the very beginning."

Before either of them could say anything, she opened the sugar bowl and pinched some of it out. She started to chant quietly as she sprinkled sugar around the circle, not Latin or any other language that he knew, and Bobby sighed before walking over to his chair behind the desk. He sat down and looked out at the girl, and John reluctantly leaned back against the couch. Once she was done sprinkling, she went completely still. Legs crossed under her, hands on her thighs, palms up. Her hair was pushed back over her shoulders and away from her face, and her expression was perfectly blank. He couldn't even see her eyes moving under her lids. There were even a few moments when he wasn't sure if she was breathing.

"You trust her?" John asked. He was leaned back enough that he could keep her in sight as he looked at Bobby, but the other man didn't look away from the center of the room.

"More than demons or angels," was the answer.

So they waited.

 **Odie**

 _"I know you can hear me!"_ It felt like she'd been sitting and meditating for hours. She could barely even feel her body anymore, which was not a good sign. Especially after her little resurrection trick, which she still had problems believing had actually worked. _"For once, in your miserable existence, make things a little easier!"_

 _"Who are you calling miserable?"_ She wanted to sag in relief, to relax in celebration of finally breaking through, but she couldn't risk it. If he thought that she thought she'd won, he'd probably go back to the silent treatment.

"You. Are you gonna deny being miserable? Because I can tell when you're lying." She thought she was talking out loud, which would probably be very confusing for Bobby and the oldest Winchester.

 _"You think you got the juice to read me?"_ Oh, great, the super powerful being was laughing at her. Just what she needed.

"I had the juice to pull John Winchester out of Heaven." She could feel surprise, muted but still there. "Did more than just pull him out too. Made him a body out of dirt and blood. You know any other human that can pull that off?"

 _"Always knew that Bennett curse would come back to bite Dad in the ass."_

"Yeah, well, this cursed Bennett bitch ain't done yet. I'm going to stop it."

 _"Stop what? Lucifer? Michael? Dad's grand plan?"_ So much laughter, without a single ounce of real amusement. Just more pain and suffering, from a being older than humanity. Normally feeling all that would be enough to drive her mad, but it's been a crazy year.

"Okay, so I might have phrased it wrong. John Winchester is going to stop it, if you help us." Under the grief, there was a touch of curiosity. Not much, but hopefully enough.

 _"Give me one good reason why_ I _should help_ you." It was just the question she needed. In the deep darkness of her mind, she heard a pain-filled scream and saw the burned imprint of wings.

"Because if this plays out the way everyone else wants, you're going to die. No more running, and no more livin' it up with the humans. You'll be dead, and they'll keep going. At least with my plan, there's a chance that things will turn out better for you. So, what's it gonna be?"

"You psychics are no fun, you know that?" The voice wasn't in her head anymore. It was loud and echoed around her, and she struggled to get her eyes open. Bobby and John were both on their feet, she was aware of them standing, but her focus was on the being standing in front of her. Looked like a man. Sounded like a man. Was actually a celestial being so bright that it was hard for her to keep her eyes open.

"You know I didn't ask for this gig, right? I was born this way, and I think we both know who's to blame for that," she said with a smile that she didn't feel. She felt cold, frozen right down to the marrow.

"Wait a minute, I know you! You're that trickster!" Bobby yelled.

"Actually, he's-" Her jaw locked as her lips pressed tight together, and honey colored eyes sparked gold as he grinned down at her.

"Don't go giving away all my secrets. Trickster works just fine." The last part was directed at Bobby, and she was starting to feel how stiff and sore she really was.

 _"Shame. Gabriel's a much better name,"_ she thought. Those inhuman eyes looked down at her, and she would have shrunk back if she could actually move.

"Old Man Winchester, be a gentleman and help her up. Looking down at her is making my neck hurt." When John stepped up to the circle, she lifted her hands and bit the inside of her cheek as she was pulled to her feet. She expected John to let her go, he didn't really seem to like her and the feeling was mutual, but he kept one hand clamped under her elbow to keep her steady. "Standing isn't much better. To think, people call me short."

"Don't we have bigger things to worry about?" John asked. The man didn't so much as flinch when Gabriel turned his gaze onto him, and she wondered if he would react differently if he knew he was having a staring contest with an archangel. Most people would find that unsettling, but from what she'd seen the Winchesters weren't most people.

"Tell me the plan, Odie Bennett. Tell me what you saw," Gabriel said and looked directly at her. It was like being caught in a spotlight, and her dry throat clicked as she swallowed.

"Lilith came up with most of the plan, but Ruby isn't stupid. Whole place is warded. Luckily, Ruby is also sadistic. Winchester blood can get through. She wants Dean to be able to get through, to witness his failure. It'll also make it easier for Lucifer to kill him. The warding will keep everyone else out, like me and Bobby."

"So you brought back the dad?" Gabriel asked with an overdramatic eyeroll. Now wasn't the time for dramatics, but angels probably didn't freak out over the Apocalypse as much as humans.

"Mary wouldn't have worked, wrong bloodline. I could have brought Adam back, since he's John's son as much as Sam and Dean, but why should he have to be brought back into this mess? He already died once for being a Winchester. Seemed wrong to bring him back to save them. That left John, or someone farther back. The farther back I go, the more difficult it is. Blood magic, you know?"

"Tricky and unpredictable?" She resisted the urge to hold up her middle finger, but Gabriel must have known she was thinking about it because he laughed. Gleefully. Like a kid in a candy store.

"To say the least." Tricky and unpredictable…she'd felt her skin actually rip apart as she pulled at John Winchester's soul and turned blood-soaked dirt into a functional human body.

"That's the plan? One little demon puts up a ward, so you bring out the one person who can get through? Then what? How does he get through and change things?" Gabriel asked her. It was a good question. If Dean couldn't get in, how could John?

"That one little demon is Lilith's right-hand, and he'll be able to get through. Right now, we're still connected so I'll be able to slip through the wards too. I'm not a witch, but I've got plenty of cousins who are and I've picked up a thing or two." John was still keeping her steady, one hand cupped under her elbow, and she reached over with her other hand to grip his wrist. His skin was warm, pulse strong under her fingertips, and _she did that_. "He will get through. Lilith will not die, and Lucifer will continue to rot in his cage."

"Lilith won't give up. The angels won't either. You got a plan for them?" Wow, Gabriel was really playing hardball. While Bobby and John just watched and listened.

"Lilith is gonna have a long nap. I've already called up Cousin Ginny, and we've got a spot all set up for her. As for the angels, you think He is going to let this slide?" She let her eyes slide up John's body, from the boots on his feet to the top of his dark head of hair, and then cut her eyes over at Gabriel. His eyes brightened, but the look was cold and hard.

"What do you want from me, Odette?" His tone was serious, without a single trace of false humor, and Odie felt her right knee try to buckle.

"A trip to Ilchester, and that fancy-looking ceremonial knife in my toolbox."

"Oh, is that all?" She looked down, thought it all over, but that was all she needed.

"I could do with a change of clothes," she said as she looked back up.

"Get it done, or our next talk won't be as much fun." He raised one hand up towards his face, winked at her, and then snapped.

 **Bobby**

The loud snap was still echoing around the study, and John and Odie were both gone. One little snap and they were gone. There was another snap, quiet this time, and an actual throne appeared in the middle of the room. With the Trickster sitting in it.

"Whattaya say, old timer? A lap dance while we wait?" His eyebrows seemed to practically dance, and Bobby walked behind his desk.

"Any funny business and I'll put another stake through you." Bobby picked up a bottle of whiskey as the Trickster started to laugh and thought about praying for all of this to be over. He probably would have too, if he thought anyone was listening.

 **John**

"Oh, I think I'm going to be sick," she groaned next to him. He was still holding onto her elbow, holding her up, but they weren't in Bobby's study anymore. They were standing outside, in front of an old church, and it felt like his stomach was trying to crawl up his throat.

"What the hell?" The words came out rough, forced out through his tight throat, and he glanced down to see that she was already looking up at him.

"One snap moved us from South Dakota to Maryland. Do you feel like your stomach is trying to divorce the rest of your body?" She'd been tan, skin turned naturally golden by the sun, but her face looked pale now.

"You want to talk about organs right now?" Her brows pulled down tight, caused small creases over the top of her forehead, and he felt her hand squeezing around his wrist as she pulled herself up straight.

"No, now isn't the time. We should probably stop the Apocalypse first. Escort me into the church? My knees still feel a little weak." When he just looked down at her, she raised her other hand to slap his arm. "Today! Hurry up before we miss our mark!"

Instead of replying, he moved his hand down to grip her forearm under her elbow and squeezed hard enough to bruise. He could still feel her eyes on him, just as sure as he'd felt her fingers on his cheek earlier, but he ignored it and started walking. She stumbled a little but never asked him to slow down, and he could hear yelling as soon as they crossed the doorway. He couldn't see anyone, but it was Dean's voice. Dean's voice yelling his brother's name. Odie started to pull on him once they were in the church, and he saw Dean's back as they turned a corner.

"Dean!" It was dark in the church hallway, but he could tell that Dean's eyes were wide and saw him take a step back until he bumped into the double doors he'd been banging on.

"Move away from the door! Move! Now!" Dean didn't question Odie; he moved out of the way and pressed his back against concrete, and Odie released his arm as she charged on ahead of him. John was slowing to a stop, so he wouldn't run face-first into the doors, but she wasn't slowing.

"Dad! What-"

Dean was cut off as Odie yelled, sounded like Latin but happened too fast for John to really hear, and her small body hit the center seam of the doors. The thick wood groaned and bowed, and he waited to see if she was going to be pushed back or let through. He stopped behind her just in case she was thrown back, but the doors flew open and splintered. He raised an arm on instinct to keep flying wooden shards from blinding him, he could see Dean doing the same thing next to him, and he heard Odie laughing. When he lowered his arm, he saw Odie running into the room and laughing as she went straight for a blonde woman sitting on the floor on the far side of the room.

"Stop Sam!" Odie yelled over her shoulder. That was the only opening that the blonde needed; the woman's arm cut through the air, and Odie went flying. He and Dean got into the room as Odie's body crashed against concrete, but he couldn't stop to see if she was okay. He grabbed one of Sam's arms and hauled him backwards, and pure black eyes looked over at him.

"Dad?" Black eyes. Demon's eyes. That slowly disappeared to show Sam's usual hazel. "Dean?"

"You can't kill Lilith! She's the last seal!" Dean yelled out. John looked over his shoulder to see a brunette woman with her arm outstretched, keeping Dean pinned to the wall, and her face showed a mixture of shock and outrage.

"You are not supposed to be here!" the blonde screamed. She was on her feet now, long white dress flowing around her legs, and she was looking straight at John as she took an unsteady step forwards.

"But I'm here."

She was so small and quiet that John never even realized that she'd gotten back to her feet. He could see Odie now, staying low to the ground, dripping blood as she went. She'd bled through her bandages, probably from being thrown across the room, but it wasn't slowing her down. She got behind the blonde that was steadily moving towards John and Sam, the other demon was preoccupied with holding Dean, and John held his ground as he waited for Odie. She got behind the blonde and struck before the demon knew what was happening.

John hadn't noticed earlier, he had no reason to notice, but Odie's clothes had changed. The shorts and too large shirt were gone; she was wearing black jeans that clung to her legs and what had been a white shirt that was now showing spreading blood stains, and she pulled a long curved knife out of a holster on her hip. She came up behind the blonde, completely eclipsed by the taller woman's body, and then the blonde stopped. Her eyes widened as she rocked up onto her toes, and there was a quiet grunt followed by a bright flash of light.

The blonde fell to the ground, and John hadn't realized that he'd moved to stand partially in front of Sam until he looked down to see a few blonde waves on his borrowed boots. He looked back up to see Odie standing up, swaying on the spot, and breathing heavily. The knife was sticking out of the blonde's back, and Odie looked up to meet his eyes. She grinned and her left knee buckled, and John moved around the still demon's body and caught her arm before she could completely collapse. Blood slicked across his hand and he nearly lost his grip as her right knee buckled as well, and he had to duck down to pull her into his arms. It was either that or let her fall to the ground, and he couldn't say why he decided to care enough to keep her from collapsing.

"What did you do?!" John turned around, with one arm hooked under Odie's knees and the other across her back, and her head rolled against his shoulder so she could see the other demon now walking towards them. It was a mistake, because she freed Dean when she turned her attention.

"I changed things," he heard Odie whisper. "But your ending is the same."

Sam caught the demon's arms as she tried to walk past him, and John saw the genuine surprise on her face as she looked up at Sam. Something passed between them, exactly what John couldn't tell, and he saw Dean pull a knife from his jacket as he stepped up. Sam held the demon's arms back as Dean pushed the knife into her stomach, and it was like both boys held their breath as light pulsed from inside of the demon and then flickered out. It only lasted for a moment, and then they stepped back as the demon fell to the ground. They looked at each other and breathed heavily, and John looked at them both as they turned to look at him.

"You weren't supposed to kill her!" Dean yelled.

"And I didn't. She's…napping. Think of the knife as a lid. She can't smoke out, and she's completely trapped inside of her meat suit. You're welcome." Her voice was quiet, like every word took too much effort.

"Don't I know you?" Dean's eyes were narrowed on Odie's face, until Sam slapped his shoulder and met John's eyes.

"How are you here, Dad?" Sam asked. He looked down at Odie, who shrugged one shoulder, and then looked back at his sons.

Before he could answer, everything went black.


End file.
